


Chemistry--Or Biology?

by Kameo (Brainygiirl)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Bottoming from the Top, Butt Plugs, Casual Sex, Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Dom/sub Undertones, First Time, M/M, Oral Sex, Professor John Watson, Top John Watson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:48:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22044343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brainygiirl/pseuds/Kameo
Summary: Professor Watson wants one last fling before the semester begins, but he may get more than he's asked for.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 20
Kudos: 165
Collections: Fandom Trumps Hate 2019





	Chemistry--Or Biology?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [obviouslySherlock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/obviouslySherlock/gifts), [CumberCurlyGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CumberCurlyGirl/gifts).



> To my patron, cheerleader, and friend, obviouslySherlock:  
> Your patience and confidence have meant more than you could ever know.  
> I hope you love it as much as I loved writing it. (I'm a masochist. What can I say?)
> 
> To CumberCurlyGirl, my brilliant partner, beta, and friend,  
> Couldn't have done it without you. <3
> 
> To AlterEgoNyc,  
> Thank you, Sir, for your...encouragement. Wouldn't have done it without you. <3

John Watson looked himself up and down in the mirror.  _ Not bad.  _ His favorite polo shirt--the turquoise--complemented his tan and played up his eyes. He was relieved to see that his favorite black trousers fit just as well as they had in the spring. He admitted he always grew a bit lazy during the reduced summer class schedule at Uni, but he was grateful the biology department kept him on, even though he was only a part-time lecturer. He knew he was liked by his students and vice versa, but he worried that his more informal approach toward his classes was viewed as less than professional by his colleagues. Still, he wouldn’t change a thing. Yes, he needed to complete his research in order to secure the academic future he wanted, and he’d love to be appointed in place, of course, but students would always be his reason to go to work each day. He fed off their energy and loved their earnestness, their devotion to their ideas. It was a perfect feedback loop. 

The new semester was about to begin and today had been just the slightest bit cooler, prompting the excitement that the start of the academic year brought to campus. Before the pressure of early morning classes, office hours and the endless grading of tests and papers set in, Professor Watson was determined to have a night on the town. So to speak. The club he was thinking of going to was actually quite a ways outside of town. With his reputation of being overly friendly with students, he was very careful to socialize (and find bedmates) as far from uni hangouts as possible. He didn’t need gossip about his virtually non-existent love-life circulating in the dining hall. Life was complicated enough. The last thing he needed was extra scrutiny. 

He hummed to himself as he checked his hair in the mirror. A little gel. He planned on dancing and the club he was thinking about had weak air conditioning. He wasn’t going to let it stop him from looking his best. He might be turning thirty-five, but he could pass for late twenties he supposed...he laughed at himself and turned off the bathroom light. His last move before walking out the door of his flat was to check that his sports jacket still buttoned across his middle.  _ Good to go. _

The drive took about 45 minutes, far longer than the average student was willing to travel with their limited free time. And not many of them had cars in any case. He enjoyed it: radio on, thoughts free to roam. He felt his spirits lifting with every mile he covered. It wasn’t even the closest gay bar. He was almost certain he was going to be out of student range and he couldn’t wait. 

The parking lot was three-quarters full--perfect. A big enough crowd to choose from, but enough space to move on the dance floor. The perfect ratio of room to squeeze closer or increase the distance, depending on how the conversation was going. He’d admit he was hoping to find a looker but even an Adonis would have to be able to hold up his end of a conversation. John Watson enjoyed a pretty face and a pretty arse as much as the next man, but he wanted someone with a brain in his head. The brain being the most important sexual organ? Isn’t that what they said? Awkward morning moments were fairly likely with a one-night stand, but a meaningful exchange over breakfast could cover a multitude of sins. Nothing like a prolonged silence to ruin the memory of a good shag. 

He declined the offer to check his jacket, preferring to maintain a level of formality until he committed to dance with someone. He scanned the room and was pleased that his reasoning had been sound. A mostly older crowd, certainly no underclassmen among them. He felt his shoulders relax and he unbuttoned that middle button. Promising. Very promising.

He was casually acquainted with the bartender, on a first name basis at least and they exchanged pleasantries. He remembered John’s Glengarry with a splash of water and the laugh they had shared over the idea that it was a sacrilege. 

They made pleasant small talk while he scanned the dancers on the floor. The dj was skilled and, feeling a little old despite himself, John was glad the music wasn’t too loud to hear himself think. Or hold a conversation. He was approached by a man close to his own age, with a few bruises and a nose that had played a good deal of rugby. Handsome in a rough way. They made their way into the center of the crowd, confident of their dancing skills. Or their confidence at least. Another advantage of growing older, John thought. Not giving a fuck what anybody thought. They danced through several numbers and parted agreeably when it became obvious they had nothing much in common. John danced with several other partners and enjoyed himself very much, but didn’t find anyone he considered bedding. He was warm and removed his jacket before he sat down for a soda water and checked his watch, thinking it might be time to head home. 

Suddenly, a tall figure slid gracefully onto the stool next to him. It was a young man, younger than himself, in any case, who looked like he had stepped out of a Michelangelo sketchbook--no, that wasn’t quite right. He wasn’t cherubic enough. Curly hair, yes, but his cheekbones were angular and it added years to his face. He could have stood to put on another twenty pounds at least. But his lips? A sexist thought snuck in-- _ too pretty for a man. _ John caught himself staring and had to make a conscious effort to look away. He realized he had missed a bit of what the slender dark-haired man had said and focused. 

“...popular, but haven’t found anyone worth taking home?”

_ Cheeky bugger.  _

Recovering a bit, “Been keeping tabs on me have you?”

It was difficult to tell the true color of his eyes in the darkness of the club, but they were light, no question. The younger man licked his lower lip then took it between his teeth. John struggled to raise his eyes. 

“You’re hard to miss. Every man in the club has cast a line for you, but you’re not biting. What, exactly, are you waiting for?” With that, the man cocked his head and leaned in close enough that John could smell the mint on his breath when he said, “Maybe it’s me.” His voice was pitched low, almost a rumble, and John thought,  _ Bloody hell. He might be right. _

John slipped off his jacket and seizing the upper hand once more, he said, “Let’s find out,” grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him onto the floor. They exchanged names and began to move to the music. His leather jeans were skintight and as they began to work up a sweat, he opened the straining buttons of his black  _ purple? _ shirt. The man  _ boy? _ danced like he flirted: smooth and confident, with steady eye contact and a teasing grin. He was subtle and supple in his movements and by the third tune, John found himself wondering how that would translate to the bedroom. He knew he’d made his choice for the evening.  _ No point wasting any more time.  _

“I want to take you home.” 

“I know. I didn’t think it would take this long to be honest. It doesn’t usually.”

“Well, don’t get cocky. You aren’t through the door yet.”

“I will be. Through the door, in the bed and under the sheets. You want me. And I want you.”

John grabbed him by the sides of his face and pulled him in close. When he whispered into his ear, “Be careful what you wish for,” he was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath. He grabbed the belt circling the narrow waist and pulled Sherlock  _ probably not his real name _ towards the exit. Winking at the bartender, he tossed an enormous sum he couldn’t afford on the bar, snatched up his jacket, and headed for the door. 

The drive home was crackling with sexual tension and John had to force himself to mind the road. They had decided to leave Sherlock’s car in the lot, with John promising to drop him back there in the morning. Twice he removed Sherlock’s hand from his knee, finally saying, “It’s going to be quite anti-climactic if we wind up in a wreck before we have a chance to get naked.”

Sherlock pouted. “Drive faster then. We’ve already wasted too much time.”

“Keep your trousers on. Literally. For a few more minutes at least.” He glanced sideways and saw the smile on his face mirrored on Sherlock’s. When they pulled into the lot outside his flat, he had to warn Sherlock again to keep his hands to himself, “I have neighbors and I’d like to avoid awkward conversations in the lift. I promise you it will be worth waiting for.”

When they finally fell through the door, they had gotten so desperate for one another, that John couldn’t tell whose hands were where. He pulled Sherlock’s shirt from out of his waistband and slid his hands up his long, smooth back. He was thin enough that John could feel his ribs and noticed the shiver when he tried tickling. Sherlock grabbed John’s hands and slid them down and inside his trousers, where John could feel the globes of his ass.  _ No pants. Well done, Watson. _ In the meantime, Sherlock’s fingers were making short work of the buttons on John’s shirt. Rather than stop devouring Sherlock’s mouth to give directions to the bedroom, John began to maneuver the taller man and they both continued unbuckling, loosening, and stripping whatever blocked their progress towards skin-on-skin contact. Leaving a trail of clothing on the floor, they pushed the door open and John backed him up against the bed so that his knees gave way and he fell onto his ass. Sherlock wasted no time in pushing off the heels of his shoes with his toes. 

Having trapped his quarry, John paused to savour the moment. The sudden pause caused Sherlock to look up and his mouth opened as he began to breathe more heavily. John stood, legs wide, unbuckling his belt and staring down at him, all playfulness gone from his expression. He ran his tongue around his mouth and stepped out of his trousers. Triggered back into movement, Sherlock scooted farther back on the bed and planted his heels. He lifted his ass and slipped out of his own trousers, allowing his long cock to rest against his flat belly. John lifted his lip in a half smile and Sherlock, knees bent, and picked himself up on his elbows, watching, ready for whatever might be in the works. 

As John considered, Sherlock let his knees fall open a little wider and that seemed to cement John’s determination. Fully naked now, he stroked himself, slowly, drawing Sherlock’s eyes to its thick fullness. Sherlock tore his eyes away, looked John full in the eyes and said, “Yes, please.”

John grinned. “Such a good boy. So polite.”

Color rose in his cheeks and Sherlock scrambled forward to sit on the edge of the bed again. He opened his mouth and tilted his head forward. 

“Eager too. Are you sure?”

Sherlock scowled up at him. 

John held his hands up in surrender. “Ok, ok. Never hurts to double check. Safe, sane, consensual--”

Before John realized what was happening, Sherlock was on his knees in front of him. 

In that deep  _ melted chocolate _ voice, he said, “Convinced?” He lowered his head and John felt the warm, wet slide of Sherlock’s mouth envelop the head of his cock. He looked down at the black curls as they rose and fell slowly. Sherlock hummed and pulled off, licking his lips.

“Mmm, Good for me, good for you?”

John tried to speak, but faltered. He cleared his throat and managed to croak out, “Yes, good. Very good. Fantastic, to be honest.”

Sherlock said, “Good,” and began to swirl his tongue around the gleaming head. John groaned and put his hands gently on top of Sherlock’s silky hair. Sherlock hummed again and rubbed against the petting exactly like a spoiled cat seeking attention. John was happy to oblige and began to scratch his scalp gently. He stopped for a moment when Sherlock engulfed him again. Sherlock pulled back to see what had happened and John saw a string of saliva and pre-come stretch out between the tip of his cock and Sherlock’s plump lower lip. He bent and kissed it right off his face. Sherlock kneeled up and returned the kiss with ferocity. If John had had any doubt about Sherlock’s enthusiasm, it dissolved. Sherlock thrust his tongue deep into John’s mouth and was met with biting and sucking. John felt like a teenager, as if kissing were the end in itself. Finally, he came up for air. 

“We can slow down a bit, you know. We’ve got all night.”

Sherlock, breathless, moved back and lay flat on the bed, pulling John on top of him. They continued to kiss as they ground against each other, their cocks meeting occasionally in the horizontal slide. John stroked the skin, taut over the cheekbones and angular jaw, the slight stubble and strong chin. “You. Are perfect.” His lips felt the smile spread on the face below him. John rolled them over. He let his hands roam and touched everywhere he could reach. The kisses continued, softer now. 

Sherlock drawled, “Hardly. But you’re not so bad yourself. Every man there had his eyes on you.”

“Get out. I’m an old man.” He pinched him on his ass and Sherlock squeaked.

“Hey!” He pulled away to glare at John. 

“Are you pouting? You are! Omigod, you’re adorable.”

Small and perfectly round, the cheeks fit in his hands like that’s what they were created for. When he pulled him closer, Sherlock’s eyes rolled back and his chin tilted up. John massaged and kneaded and Sherlock let out a low moan. John rubbed the skin, surprisingly soft, moving his hands in small circles, but froze when he felt  _ no, can’t be  _ the flat rubber edge of a plug. He pushed against it with his finger and Sherlock moaned again. 

“Oh, my. I didn’t quite understand just how eager you were.”

“I don’t know how much clearer I could have been. And I think I’ve waited long enough, don’t you?”

“Couldn’t agree more.” John stretched out his arm, searched for the night table drawer, then pulled it open. He rummaged around for a bit and came out with a small square packet. “I’m rather eager myself.”

Sherlock sat up and took the packet out of John’s hand. He tore it open and crept backwards until he was perched over John’s thighs. 

“I’ve always wanted to try this…” He looked up at John from under his long, black eyelashes and placed the condom on the tip of John’s shaft. Never breaking eye contact, he lowered his head and gently placed his lips on top of it. John’s mouth opened his mouth slightly in wonder. When he began to slide his mouth down over it, John’s head fell back and hummed in pleasure. The condom on, Sherlock sat up and John watched him as he reached around behind and closed his eyes in pleasure. He drew the plug out slowly and placed it on the bed behind him. 

In a hushed voice, John said, “Oh my god.”

“Shh. May I?”

John tried to speak and had to clear his throat. “Please. I can’t think of--”

Sherlock climbed back up and over, a little farther this time and put his finger over John’s lips. He maneuvered himself until he was confident that John’s cock was centered properly. 

John tried again. “Would you like some--”

“Do shut up, will you? You’re distracting me.”

“Yes. Quiet. Very quiet now. I won’t--” He cut himself off this time, with a deep groan as Sherlock began to let himself down inch by inch, making delicious noises on the way. John wanted badly to watch, but struggled to keep his eyes open, the pleasure was so intense. Finally seated, Sherlock took his weeping erection in his hand. When John noticed, he fished around in the drawer and came out with a small bottle of lube. He squeezed a generous portion into his palm and took hold of Sherlock’s cock himself. 

He pushed Sherlock’s hand out of the way. “Mine.”

Sherlock fell forward onto his hands and said, “Yessir.” He began to move his hips back and forth, slowly at first, matching his speed to John’s hand. Gradually their movement sped up in tandem, slippery, slapping sounds increasing in volume. 

Through gritted teeth, John began, “Are you close, I’m going to--”

“Yes, yes, yes,” was the answer and in a once-in-a-blue-moon-event, in John’s experience, at least, they came at the same moment. John pumped Sherlock through his orgasm, gently pulling the last drops from him as Sherlock ground down until John began to soften inside him. John held the condom in place as Sherlock slid off and laid himself on his back next to him. John tied the condom off and rolled over, dropping it on the floor and grabbing tissues for both of them. Cleaned up, Sherlock spooned up behind John and mumbled, “That, uh, thing that you, uh, you did? that, um, thing? With your hand? That was, um... good.”

John reached behind, drew Sherlock’s hand over his side and up to his mouth to kiss it. “No. That was...amazing. All of it.”

John woke to a decidedly chilly morning and migrated to a warm spot on the sheets, realizing gradually that it had been left by Sherlock. He sat up, a little disappointed, only to smell the unmistakable scent of freshly brewed coffee. 

_ If he has anything intelligent to say, anything at all, he might be a keeper.  _

His bathrobe was not on its hook so he slipped on a pair of pyjamas, used the loo, and followed his nose to the kitchen, where Sherlock, in John’s dressing gown,  _ cheeky bastard,  _ was sipping coffee, while scrolling on his phone. 

_ Bad sign. Probably SpaceTime or Mybook or something.  _

“Good morning. Best in a while, honestly.”

Sherlock glanced sideways and grunted. Trying to stay hopeful, John retrieved the paper from the mat outside the door and sat as Sherlock brought two steaming cups to the table. John offered milk, but Sherlock said, “Black, two sugars,” and John passed the bowl. John opened the paper and Sherlock buried himself in his phone. John sighed and began to munch his toast. 

The silence was companionable enough, which was at least something. John decided to give it one last try, before racking it up as another one-night-stand, now matter how hot the sex had been. He turned a page of the paper.

“Ohhh, I’d forgotten. There’s an exhibit opening tomorrow that I wanted to see at the RSC in Piccadilly. It’s part of--sorry, RSC, that’s the Royal Society of Chemis--”

He cut off when Sherlock sat bolt upright and stared at him. 

John wiped his mouth with his hand. “What, have I got something on my face? What is it?”

Sherlock slowly turned his phone towards him, and John leaned forward quizzically, until he saw on the screen, the homepage of ChemFest 2019. 

He looked up at Sherlock’s grinning face and laughed out loud. 

Sherlock slammed his phone down on the table and jumped up in childish excitement. “I was hoping, oh, I was really hoping, you wouldn’t turn out to be stupid, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to run out on the morning after, I mean not that I’ve had that many, because of sheer stupidity, and here you are, obviously with at least half a brain in your head--”

John cut him off with a kiss. “Thank you, I think.”

Sherlock continued rapidfire, “Now, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, because I’ve been planning on attending, and having company, especially, well, you know, will be brilliant, but I really can’t go until next weekend, here look.”

He scooped up his phone and tapped away. He showed the calendar to John, marked as busy until next Saturday. “There’s just no way, and look here. I really have to get going. As in right now.” More tapping and he showed John the screen again. “Movers coming.”

John looked at him in shock. “Twelve-thirty! You’re going to be late! Go get dressed and I’ll put my number into your phone. It’s a busy week for me too, but consider yourself booked for noon on the twenty-first.” John pushed him towards the bedroom and looked at his watch. “I’ll get ready. It’s going to take us--”

Sherlock’s phone rang and he emerged from the bedroom, dressed, He stuffed a piece of toast into his mouth and John handed over the phone, still ringing. 

Speaking around the wad in his cheek, he said, “No need. That’s my roommate. We’re moving into the new flat together and he’s come to pick me up. Your number’s in?”

John nodded, and waited for Sherlock to swallow. “Yes. Call me right now. Well, answer him first.” Sherlock picked up the call, saying “Two minutes,” clicked off and tapped again. John’s phone sounded from the bedroom and Sherlock beamed at him. John grabbed him in a bear hug and kissed him, hard and wet. He slapped his arse, and pushed him away. “Go.”

Sherlock paused to stare a moment longer, and John said, “Saturday.”

Sherlock echoed, “Right. Saturday,” and was out the door. 

********

The next couple of days were an exciting and exhausting whirlwind of new classes, new schedules, new students, so much so that John was barely able to send and respond to a few texts. Sherlock was clearly busy as well, but he was careful to make contact at least twice a day, morning and evening, with short abbreviations like 

> _ttyt_

and 

> _tl;dr_

that John had to research.  _ Can’t fall behind the kids.  _ His favorite message though, came on Wednesday: 

> _Still here not getting rid of me_

Ignoring the lack of punctuation, he answered

> _Good. Me neither. Saturday._

He was slightly puzzled at the answer:

> _If not sooner_

But he let it go.

Finally, Friday came, the last class of the week and his favorite, Biology for Chemists: What Medicinal  _ Chemists _ Need to Know about  _ Biology.  _ It was only open to upperclassmen and he enjoyed the challenge of engaging young people who were beginning to be confident of their academic areas of concentration. The narrow topic meant the class was usually small and he got to know the students well. He knew that some of them would be back for Anatomy & Physiology and Pharmaceutical Delivery Methods, so he would be developing relationships and possibly, he hoped, strengthening his chances for tenure. 

It was scheduled for nine a.m. and it would take extra time for everyone to find the room for the first time, so he waited five minutes before launching into his opening lecture. Sure enough, a few stragglers crept in, trying not to be noticed. 

“I know some of you are only here because the course is a requirement, but if my dastardly plan succeeds I will convince you meticulous chemists that the imprecise and messy human body is worth your time.”

The joke triggered the quiet chuckles it always did, and almost covered the opening of the door for what he hoped would be the last interruption. 

“The topics we’ll cover will include pharmaceutical research, specifically, the in vivo aspects of drug--”

He looked up and froze. He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again, then pinched them to make sure he wasn’t imagining it. 

_ No. Tall, thin, dark curly hair, and those full cupid’s bow lips...sliding down over the head of-- _

He shook his head and looked down at his notes, trying to recover.  _ It is. Can’t be, shouldn’t be. But it is. Sherlock. _

John stared as he strolled, swaggered, really, to the seat closest to his own with that same teasing grin and _those impossible fucking cheek--_

“Uh, sorry, specifically, we’ll be looking at phenotypic screening and target identification, animal disease models, and…”

He managed to pick up the thread, thanks to his habit of over-preparing, but his mind was completely occupied by Sherlock’s physical presence and the implications. Reeling, he ran one possibility after another through his mind, most of them disastrous.

_ Is he really a student? Stalker? Is he trying to set me up? Did the administration send him? Blackmail?  _

The last thing John needed was for the administration to find out he’d had sex with a student. It would mean the end of his chances for appointment, maybe even his career.

_ What have I done?  _

Meanwhile, Sherlock was subtly working his charm for all he was worth, tongue slipping out, winking, unsettling John so much he sat down, not willing to take a chance on developing an erection on the first day of class. Thankfully, the students were drawn in to the discussion, despite his distraction, and even Sherlock began taking notes. After about a half hour overview of the coursework, John had regained his composure, and, 

“Since we’re such a small group, I’d like us to get to know one another a little more intimately--”

Sherlock interrupted him with a fit of choking so loud that his neighbor thumped him on the back. 

He croaked. “Sorry. Sorry. Swallowed wrong.” He held up a bottle of water. 

John tried to glare without actually glaring and said, “...so let’s introduce ourselves. We’ll start on this side of the table to give Mr…?” He nodded in Sherlock’s direction. 

Sherlock sputtered out, “Holmes. Sherlock Holmes.” 

“...Mr Holmes a chance to catch his breath.” 

When they made their way around to him, John nodded and said, “Mr Holmes?”

“Thank you, Dr Watson. And I apologize again. I’m actually here because of your reputation.” He smiled broadly and John’s heart sped up.  _ Oh god he did set me up _

“I’ve finished most of my coursework already. The new Uni says I need a course in biology for my graduate program in Pharmaceutical Development. I’ve chosen yours. I’ve heard you go easy on us lab rats.” 

John’s phone buzzed on the table and he looked down at it to see Sherlock’s name and a message. “I apologize, I uh, must take this, urgent…”

> _So RELAX. I can take another class. Or pretend it never happened. Or stay on dl 4 mos. Ur risk, ur call. Breathe. K?_

John looked up, puzzled, and the phone vibrated again. 

> _dl=downlow=secret_

Following the advice, John took in a lungful of air, paused, and then nodded decisively at the phone. He looked around at the students and said, “Crisis averted. Sorry for the interruption. Why don’t we all turn off our phones?”

He picked up from where he’d left off. 

“Next week we’ll have a guest lecturer, a neurological research scientist, who’ll present on PET tracers and biomarkers, and how neurotransmitters can be affected by…”

When class was over, Sherlock left immediately, chatting with the chap who’d thumped him, while John stayed behind to answer questions and sign registration forms for another twenty minutes. 

When he turned his phone back on, there was a message:

> _Waiting outside your building_

John smiled and started to pack up his belongings. 

********

When he arrived, Sherlock was sitting in his car, eyes closed. John tapped lightly on the window and he startled awake. He returned John’s smile and kissed him when he got out of the car. 

John took his hand and turned to walk towards the door, but John pulled him back. “Wait. I brought an overnight bag. In case…” He stopped and John tilted his head, waiting for him to continue. 

“You know.” Sherlock scowled. 

“There’s that pout again. You’d best be careful. I might be tempted to provoke you, just so I get to kiss you out of it.” He did. Kiss him out of it. “I suppose we do want to get an early start...but besides that, I just want to be able to get my hands on you again. We’ll figure out the details later. Now. Tell me. Did you know that it was my class you were registered for? Were you trying to rattle me? Because if you were, there’s a spanking in your very near future.”

Sherlock’s scowl turned into a grin. 

“I figured it out, didn’t I. I don’t know why it took so long.” He shook his head in disgust. “Endorphins probably. Addled by sex. I saw your library Sunday morning--all science, mostly biology, one shelf for chemistry. I was just so preoccupied, I didn’t put it all together until I checked the course descriptions for the room number and saw your name. By then it was too good a secret to spoil. Surprise!” 

“Too clever by half. ‘If not sooner.’ Wipe the smirk off your face, you. I was terrified!”

Sherlock rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, I am sorry about that part now. I really had no idea you’d be that frightened. I wouldn’t have gone through with it if I’d realized.”

John nodded, “Long story. Forgiven, then.” Changing his tone, he pointed at him. “Never again, young man. Let’s go.”

They headed for the building. “I wasn’t kidding about the spanking.”

"I should hope not. Sir."


End file.
